Shadowlings
by Xazz
Summary: 1940, they said the War was the worst event to ever befall modern man. So why is it happening all over again? Europe is in flames but America is just trying to make end's meat. They want to survive. Let Europe burn for all they care; America has it's own problems.


heeeeey guuuuuuys

so this is the sequel to Little White Shadows. You can find the finished fic (and Shadow Broker) on my Tumblr writing blog; shotgunsandstars or on my AO3 (please just google it and don't ask me what it is) under the same handle of Xazz. As usual with a new serial story, because I really don't like this website beyond getting a lot of traffic, I will only be posting the first chapter here. You can stay up to date by following my writing blog or my AO3.

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The news wasn't good. In fact, it was the exact opposite of good. They were down another man. Under normal circumstances it would be normal, they were at war after all. Sacrifices had to be made, men were lost all the time. This was different though. One of their own was gone.

No, not gone. Captured. Haytham couldn't think of a worst thing that could happen then someone like one of them got captured. Death was honestly preferable. He read the message again, to be sure. It had been intercepted by Nazis as it tried to get out of occupied France and it had been on it's way to Nazi code breakers before being intercepted again. It had eventually made it's way to Haytham's desk. Because this was what he did; he was given problems, and he fixed them. Haytham had taken one look at the message and known how much shit they were in. This was serious. Why did the important Family members let their children go to war?

Haytham rubbed his brow. The news was almost a month old. A month was a long time. They could be dead by now. Or they could, and probably were, still alive, and being tortured, in an unknown location.

He looked at the letter again, hoping, praying, he'd misread. But he hadn't. Each character was clearly formed though obviously done hurriedly. He wondered if he'd gotten the bird off just as the Germans had knocked the door down and dragged him away? Haytham tapped the table and looked up when there was a knock on the door. "Come," he called easily and the door of his office swung open.

"Sir," Charles saluted him when he entered. Haytham waved him off. Charles was a good man, if overzealous. "You called for me, sir?"

"Yes," Haytham said, leaning back heavily in his chair. He ran his fingertips along the slip, the last correspondence from one of the few fists in Europe who hadn't been recalled to fight for their own countries yet. Haytham shouldn't know these things, he wasn't part of the Family anymore. But he always did have that 'bad habit' (as his father had said before he'd been murdered) of knowing too much for his own good. "I need you to do something important for me."

"Anything," Charles said, meaning every word. Lad was a Stranger, better to keep it that way.

"I need you to fetch something for me," he pulled his hand from the table and rubbed dryness into his fingers. "He's in America."

Charles blinked in confusion at him, "America, sir? You know the Americans want nothing to do with the war here in Europe," he frowned.

"Yes of course," Haytham said sarcastically, "The same America who's selling us munitions wants nothing to do with this war," Charles flinched at that. "I've already sent a message to a contact we have in D.C. They know you're coming and will help you find the man I need."

"If I may ask sir?"

"You may," he waved at Charles slightly.

"Why do you need me to find an American?"

Haytham smiled slightly, "You let me worry about that Charles. Just find him and bring him here. Listen to him when he speaks, he'll be wiser than you give him credit for."

Charles frowned, "Of course, sir," he nodded. "Who am I looking for?"

Of course that was a complicated answer. And not straightforward at all. The man Haytham needed didn't technically exist. He was a ghost. A mirage. Though he knew one or two people who would be very happy if Charles did manage to find him. You couldn't find him directly and the only reason Haytham knew he was still there at all was because of a small news report he'd read a few years ago. Something about a crime lord massacre that ended in almost a dozen dead, most of them killed with knives. The boss had been found bound, gagged, and blind by the police, thanks to an anonymous tip. Here in London it had been minor news, and the only reason it even reached London was because it had ignited the entire West Coast of America. Apparently it was all anyone could talk about. Haytham always knew more than he should and it was easy to piece together what needed to happen and who Haytham had to send Charles to find.

"A former policeman," Haytham said, "his name is Malik al-Sayf."

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